


Seeing You Seeing Me

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: 6000 words of Hewlett being an embarrassing dork, Alternate Universe - Fusion, American revolutionaries are suddenly French okay, Crossover, F/M, Romance, and like everyone is around the same age, just go with it, that's the important bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hewlett is a struggling would-be astronomer who hangs with a rather odd (read: politically explosive) group of friends. Life only gets more complicated when he spots the beautiful Anna Strong through his telescope. </p>
<p>Or: the story where Hewlett is Marius and Anna is Cosette</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing You Seeing Me

**Author's Note:**

> Update: NOW WITH AWESOME ART BY CODENAMEPERIL. [GO HERE](http://kayteaem-fic.tumblr.com/post/133297422135/codenameperil-turnles-mis-au-or-the-story)

“Really, Hewlett. You cannot think of leaving the house like that.”

 

“How else would you have me leave it? Bare as a babe? I fear that’s the only other option here, Richard.”

 

Hewlett turned to the looking-glass, something he’d been avoiding all morning. His outfit indeed left much to be desired, and that was if he was in the mood to be charitable. For months now his father had sent him money—all of which Hewlett had refused—and his wardrobe had taken the brunt of his pride, perhaps even more-so than his stomach. His boots were scuffed from toe to heel, his trousers frayed at the hem, his shirt very nearly in tatters… yet what was to be done? Such was the price of following his calling.

 

“Sie schrecklich aussehen,” Richard said dryly, hardly looking up from his text.

 

Hewlett’s mouth slowly parsed the words. “…I do believe you’ve insulted me.”

 

“You’ll need far better German than that to read Burckhardt’s work.”

 

“You think I don’t know it?” Hewlett scowled. “I am not linguist, damn it all. My time is better spent in other pursuits. Speaking of…” He bent, tying his boots as best he could (the laces were so shredded they would hardly hold a knot) before straightening, smoothing his hair, and tucking his case importantly beneath his arm. Hewlett exaggeratedly came to attention and bowed to his friend.

 

“I bid you farewell. I am off to the gardens.”

 

“You are _always_ off to the gardens.”

 

“Mind your tongue, Richard. The more you wag it the more likely someone is to cut it off.”

 

Hewlett exited and took the steps two at a time, shaking his head as Richard’s chuckles sounded behind him. The last thing he heard was, “Don’t forget the meeting!” before he was out, staggering in the cold night air.

 

Well, nearly night. There was perhaps an hour of daylight left, just enough time to make his way to Luxembourg Gardens and set up his tools before darkness hit. With no money for a cab, Hewlett took to the streets by foot, carefully avoiding the sharper cobblestones and rusted debris—anything that might further damage his boots. A soiled shirt was one thing, but Hewlett could not make it through the coming winter without proper footwear.

 

“Nor a coat,” he muttered, drawing his arms closer to his chest. “Lord, give me strength to withstand these hardships. Would that I flourish spiritually in your eyes while suffering the physical… rather than the opposite under my father’s gaze.”

 

In truth, Hewlett had known such a day was coming, even as a very small child, when he’d found he was far more enthralled at what was above his head than in the texts of theologians below. The books his father shoved into his lap every evening were simply a means to an end, a gentlemanly way of preparing him for the King’s army. Serving France was a respectable calling, but only so long as a man had the learning and wit to climb through the ranks. When Hewlett had finally pronounced that he had no intention of being anyone’s dog, no matter how shiny the collar… well…

 

“Father could match the devil himself for his temper,” Hewlett muttered to the wind, repeating something he’d heard his mother say often enough. He’d left their house, something he’d wanted to do long before questions of employment arose, and there had been a few weeks when Hewlett was sure he’d starve on the streets, indistinguishable from the common beggars he shared space with. Then the check had arrived, hand delivered by an urchin who had spent who knew how long searching him out, and Hewlett had promptly torn it in two. A good thing. If he hadn’t he would have spent it just hours later, when the hunger became too much for even his stubborn nature to bare. Luckily though, fortune had more than one surprise for Hewlett that day.

 

_“Do you make a habit of destroying your funds?”_

_At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings. Hewlett figured that so long as he was away from his father, with something resembling a roof over his head (in this instance an unusually wide gutter that shielded him from the day’s drizzle), then it didn’t matter much where it was he wandered. Ending up outside the café was pure coincidence._

_Or perhaps something resembling fate._

_The man that had stood above Hewlett was quite broad of shoulder, scruffy-haired and wearing clothes that, while not at the height of fashion, were a far cry from the damp articles Hewlett sported. Another man stood behind the first, his features younger and slightly softer around the eyes. He smiled and held his umbrella over Hewlett, further shielding him from the rain._

_“Well?” the first man had asked. His voice was gruff._

_“... I do when the funds come from my father.”_

_Hewlett wasn’t sure why he answered honestly. Something about the kind expressions after so much indifference. The simple act of approaching him..._

_His two admirers exchanged a look that Hewlett couldn’t begin to fathom._

_The larger man eyed the torn paper, now soaking in the mud. He nodded once._

_“Richard Woodhull,” he said. He extended a hand and the shake turned into an excuse to heave Hewlett to his feet. “My son Abraham.”_

_“Not quite,” Abraham said. He grinned at Hewlett’s surprise. “We’re only two years apart in age, but Richard took me in... as I think he’s about to do with you.”_

_Richard grunted. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”_

_“Only that you have a tendency to collect strays.”_

_“Which makes you what?”_

_“The first, admittedly. There are worse habits I suppose. It shows character.”_

_“Now you sound like Washington.” Richard snorted and cuffed Abraham fondly across the back of his head._

 

_“... I don’t think I understand,” Hewlett said. He edged just a few inches to his left, ready to make a run for it if need be. The streets held many a character and he had no intention of being drawn into something he’d later regret. For indeed, despite his current situation, Hewlett did not yet regret his actions._

_He narrowed his eyes. “If you think that I will accept funds for some liaison—”_

 

_But Richard waved him off. “Nothing like that. Gods. Listen, it might sound strange to the likes of you, but I do have a tendency to collect strays. Abraham isn’t honest about much, but he speaks true on that at least. I’ve got a place. Small. Hardly enough wood to keep a fire going, but there’s a mattress there if you want it.” Richard shrugged as if it truly meant nothing to him either way._

_“A mattress?” Hewlett echoed._

 

“ _Better than the streets,” Abraham said. “It’s where I started. Got a wife and kid now...” He smiled a cocky smile, raised a hand and sauntered into the café before Hewlett could question him further._

_“I wouldn’t pressure you into anything,” Richard said softly. “At least let me buy you a drink.”_

_“Why?” Hewlett spluttered. “You don’t know me, sir.”_

_“I know you’re in need. Isn’t that what the Lord tells us? Help those who cannot help themselves?”_

_Hewlett didn’t know. He’d never known much beyond what his father had tried to instill in him. Yet in his experience, people rarely followed such teachings to the letter. Certainly not for young men sitting by the side of the road, head titled up towards the darkening sky._

_“Richard Woodhull,” he said again, extending his hand for a proper handshake._

_“... Edmund Hewlett.”_

_“Do you have a purpose, Hewlett?”_

_The question was so unexpected that Hewlett opened his mouth automatically, hardly thinking of the consequences. The truth came tumbling out._

_“I want to study the stars.”_

 

_He flushed horribly. Yet Richard smiled, the first Hewlett had seen from him. It was soft and warm, transforming his face._

_“The stars, huh? A dreamer then. Yes. Yes I think we can work with that...”_

 

Walking through a clearer night now, approaching the entrance to the gardens, Hewlett recalled that his gait had been an embarrassment then. Not merely because he was exhausted, hungry, suffering nearly every physical impairments one might expect, but more-so because following Richard into that café had not been unlike walking through a dream. How many men and women lined the streets day by day? How many had saviors who literally dragged them to their feet, offering food and a place to rest their head? None, so far as Hewlett knew. Such events were the stuff of fairy tales.

 

Yet it had happened to him. Within minutes Hewlett had a bottle in his hands and a warm loaf of bread to share. He’d been seated between Richard and Abraham, both of them looking far more amused at his hunger than pitying. There was a warm coat draped over his shoulders—whose, Hewlett didn’t catch—and a call for more wood to be placed on the fire. He’d worked his way through the lion’s share and a second round had been called before Richard finally spoke.

 

_“He wants to study the stars,” he said, not sounding half as derisive as Hewlett had come to expect. He and Abraham exchanged another look. “Not a politician then.”_

_“None of us are.”_

_“A lawyer is damn near bad enough.”_

_“Says the pot as black as the kettle.”_

_“You’re lawyers?” Hewlett interrupted. Crumbs spewed from his lips and he covered his mouth in shame._

 

_Abraham shrugged. “In degrees only, if we’re honest. The only real work available is translating documentation into French. Do you know the other romances?”_

 

Months later, turning into the garden, Hewlett shook his head at the response he’d given— namely a bumbling series of embarrassing half-denials. No, he’d never had a head for languages. He could hardly speak his mother tongue without tripping continuously. Translation? Never. Not unless there was a real incentive, even more alluring than money. Like, perhaps, reading the work of astronomers and cosmologists who’d come before him...

 

Hewlett’s legs ached and he settled onto the nearest bench, closer to the garden entrance than he’d have normally chosen. He’d need far more time for his studies if he ever hoped to break into the ranks of scholarship. For now, Hewlett contented himself with idle observation. The sky had turned a dark orange and purple, twilight coming on fast. If he hurried he could get in a few hours of work before the meeting.

 

Meetings. That had been the true catch of Richard’s generosity. Strange talk of lawyers and politicians, recruitment and monarchies had come to a head when Abraham sheepishly brought up the Les Amis de l’ABC, a rather rag-tag group of republican students—like Richard it turned out—all calling for a revolution. A year before, if someone had dared to mention something as dangerously foolhardy as a revolution to Hewlett...? Why, he would have seen them to the door. Now? Now one would do a lot for food and a roof over their head.

 

“Including throwing myself in with your lot,” Hewlett muttered to himself. A passing gentleman cast him a suspicious look. “Ah, Richard. However did we come to this?”

 

Hewlett’s voice trailed off, his mind honing in on more important matters. With quick, jittery movements he set his bundle on the bench, carefully unraveling his telescope. It was truly a marvelous invention, smaller than the previous models and far lighter. It was specifically crafted for those—like him—who wished to take their sightseeing from place to place, unsatisfied with a single patch of sky to marvel at. The setup always took a fair chunk of time, so Hewlett moved as quickly as he was able—while still being careful with the pieces of course. Within ten minutes he had his base settled on the limestone and his lens pointed towards the sky.

 

“Perfect,” Hewlett whispered and pressed himself to the eyepiece.

 

Sometimes he wondered what he looked like to passerby, the utter contradiction of his very being. Hewlett knew that his bearing spoke of money and power. From the way in which he tied a bow to the very words he spoke all herald him as a member of the elite—or at least the stock of them. His clothes, as shown, were quite a different matter.

 

Yet then there was his telescope. Beautiful, gleamingly polished despite the months of use, bearing a wood casing around the main body that existed only for aesthetic. For most it was purely a superfluously purchase. For Hewlett the telescope was as necessary as air itself... though even he would admit that he’d far exceeded what was compulsory. In short, good Richard had handed him a chunk of his savings and said that he was free to do with it as he willed. Or rather, given that Richard had already gotten to know him quite well at the time, he’d said with a smile that Hewlett could either update his wardrobe or buy himself a telescope. The half-joking suggestion had been too much to resist. It wasn’t as if his father had ever allowed Hewlett to buy such things with his allowance… so yes. His trousers had suffered.

 

Not Hewlett’s will though. Let the people think of him what they willed. He had stars to observe.

 

Yet he’d only been working twenty minutes or so when a fog suddenly swept through the gardens, obscuring his view. Hewlett looked up with a fierce scowl, succeeding in startling another poor passerby. Other than the young man stumbling away from him, the gardens had emptied significantly with the night’s arrival and it all would have been a perfect setup if Mother Nature hadn’t decided to prove difficult.

 

“Damn it all.” Hewlett stood and glared at the clouds obscuring his view. “You never did like me much, did you?”

 

In answer, Mother Nature opened those clouds and showered Hewlett with rain.

 

“Gods,” he cursed, scrambling to pull his things together. Hewlett resigned himself to the fact that he’d be doing no true work tonight. His telescope could withstand the elements, certainly, but there was little to see now and it looked as if his previously clear night would only grow drearier. Hewlett also didn’t relish catching his death of cold in this shower—they were just this side of fall and the heaven’s sprays had become frigid rather than refreshing. If he hurried, he could surprise Richard at the tavern far earlier than expected and perhaps mooch a free drink before Brewster drank up all the stock.

 

“A moment, a moment,” Hewlett murmured to himself. He took one last peak through his telescope, making sure that none of the debris the rain was kicking up had harmed the lens. When he did Hewlett spotted a ghost.

 

At least that’s what he initially thought, a comparison that flew through his mind, swift and fleeting as a small bird.

 

His telescope had fallen to point at the cluster of trees directly across from Hewlett, past the fountain and behind a bench mirroring his own. The first image was a literal flash of white, encouraging Hewlett to pull back and scrub at the raindrops that obscured his vision. He pressed himself back against the telescope and audibly gasped.

 

It was a woman. Perhaps the most beautiful woman Hewlett had ever seen. No… undoubtedly so. She was hiding behind one of those trees, attempting to gain as much shelter as she feasibly could, her shaky movements creating the white flicker that Hewlett had spotted. He stared, pressing the eyepiece harder against his skin, forcing his boots not to slip on the cobblestones as he leaned forward. She was gorgeous. _Ethereal_. It wasn’t the white of her clothes that he’d seen—she dressed in a black dress that blended with the bark beside her—but rather her skin itself, so finely pale as to be nearly translucent.

 

Her hair was equally dark, ensuring that her face glowed within the night like a halo. Hewlett felt his breath leave him, perhaps never to return. He’d always looked to the stars for beauty. He’d never thought to gaze down at God’s very earth.

 

“No,” he whispered.

 

She was leaving, turning into the shadows with a hand to her hat and the ghost of a smile. Within seconds she was gone.

 

Hewlett stood, rooted, as the spattering turned into a downpour. He pulled back from his telescope and lifted his face to the rain, finally shuddering in a new breath as the water cooled his cheeks—red hot and burning. Hewlett gently moved his lips, searching for a name to speak to the heavens.

 

He had none of course. He did not know her.

 

With great solemnity Hewlett was forced to pack his things and leave.

 

It was with reverence that he looked back.

 

***

 

“Look whose come early!” Abraham cheered. He lifted his mug to Hewlett with one hand, motioning to Richard with the other. “Looking like something the puss dragged in, no less.”

 

Early perhaps, but Hewlett was still the last to arrive. Les Amis were crowded around their usual table, all of them leaning casually with their knees against the table’s rim, all of them with drink in hand. Richard came back with more mugs, raising both bushy eyebrows at Hewlett’s appearance (both in terms of arrival and apparel, no doubt). He resumed his seat next to Abraham, sliding the new drinks at Caleb and Benjamin, ignoring Andre’s scowl as he fed the younger men’s love of spirits. Of the six only Washington remained quiet. His greeting was a mere incline of his head, perhaps the bare hint of a smile. Not that Hewlett truly noticed.

 

He stumbled into the tavern, the first to ever _enter_ with such a gait. With a dead-man’s stare Hewlett seated himself at their table, snatched the mug from Abraham’s hand, and proceeded to down it in one go—to much applause from his friends. Caleb whooped louder than all the others, smacking his thigh and shoving his new drink at Hewlett with vigor. Gin sloshed between them.

 

“What’s this?” he chortled. “What’s wrong today, Hewlett? You look as if you need this drink more than me.”

 

“And that’s saying quite a bit,” Benjamin murmured. He yelped as Caleb punched him in the side.

 

“Dazzled by the stars again?” Andre asked. He turned his gaze to Washington. “Honestly, George. You allow any misfit into this little band of yours.”

 

Washington eyed Andre steadily above the rim of his mug. “Indeed? You’re one to talk then, John. What have you brought to the cause lately?” He did smile though, to take the sting from his words. “Freedom will be denied to no man—either in its experience or its execution. I think our dear Patria can wait a few moments.” They all raised eyebrows at that. “Hewlett. How do you fair?”

 

Hewlett admittedly faired better now that he’d gotten some drink into him. He nursed the other drought Caleb had relinquished—a miracle in and of itself—and tried to form his thoughts into something resembling order.

 

She was...

 

She’d been...

 

He was grateful for the silence, the absence of his friends’ normal, political disagreements. Yet for all that Hewlett was still at a loss to do anything other than gaze at his fingers, wondering amazedly if his hands had truly just been yards from such beauty... he waited one moment too long.

 

“Edmund,” Richard snapped. “Are you ill?”

 

The use of his first name jogged Hewlett from whatever spell he’d fallen under. He raised lidded eyes to a chorus of concerned faces.

 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Caleb said.

 

“A ghost?” Hewlett croaked. He let out a startled huff, reminiscent of a laugh. “A ghost you say? Perhaps. She was just like a ghost to me...”

 

“She?” Abraham gestured to the bartender, calling for even more rounds. “France will need to wait more than a moment, Washington. Could it be that our dear bachelor has finally found love?”

 

“With who?” Benjamin challenged. He grinned companionably. “Surely no mortal woman could ever compare with the stars above.” He gestured expansively above his head.

 

Andre smirked. “Indeed. Where is she then? This woman who steals your color and causes limbs to shake?” He pointedly eyed Hewlett’s quivering fingers, hidden quickly beneath the table.

 

“His legs shake too!” Caleb crowed. He reached underneath and grabbed hold of Hewlett’s knee, causing him to curse. “Do show us such a woman, Hewlett! I’d like to see this vision for myself.”

 

“I cannot,” he nearly gasped. “One minute she was there, the next she was gone... I caught only a glimpse...!”

 

Washington nodded slowly. “All this from a glimpse then? It is something indeed.”

 

“Something...” Hewlett agreed.

How could he possibly explain this to his friends, dear as they were? Benjamin and Caleb, the eternal bachelors (though if Hewlett’s suspicions were correct, perhaps closer to one another than society allowed). Richard, who had perhaps been married in the past but who seemed to care little for romance now. Abraham had fully embraced domesticity with Mary and a child along the way, while Washington adored his Martha, yet had always poured his passion into the revolution, not his wife. And Andre... well, Andre loved all women, just not in the manner that Hewlett was hoping to emulate. His friends had made their choices when it came to the fairer sex and Hewlett respected that, though how to foster understanding at the pure, unbridled joy that had ripped through him at the sight of the woman’s face?

 

“I was struck,” Hewlett whispered. “Suddenly. Irrevocably. To my very bones... a moment of breathless delight.” He shook his head, staring at his hands and wondering if they could possibly be the same as those that had bundled his telescope, just hours before.

 

The rest of the table exchanged comically aghast looks.

 

“Bring more wine,” Caleb snickered. “I do believe we have the apocalypse on our hands!”

 

“Enough of that,” Richard said. “Come now, Hewlett. Think sensibly. I take it you wish to meet with this mystery woman?”

 

The very thought sent a bolt of terror—and excitement—shooting through Hewlett’s heart. He nodded through, shakily.

 

“Well then. What else do you know of her? Surely something.”

 

“Nothing, I swear it. The rain obscured much of my view—”

 

“There you have it then,” Benjamin said. “She must be a regular in the gardens. Only a lady adhering to her routine would have ventured out when rain was so imminent.”

 

Hewlett blinked. “I did not realize it was to rain today.”

 

Andre snorted. “ _You_ are oblivious. What else? You say she was beautiful—I will be the judge of that—but upper class then? She must have had an escort.”

 

The thought stopped Hewlett cold. More importantly, it jogged his memory, namely in a manner which allowed him to recall that, yes, she _had_ been accompanied. He’d been so focused on her that the man at her side hadn’t registered, though apparently he’d filed the image away for this very moment: another figure, dark, shadowed, standing beside her at the edge of the tree, pale hands... one pressed intimately against her side.

 

Hewlett’s stomach plummeted.

 

And something... green?

 

“He wore an emerald ring. On his left hand...” the words slipped out before Hewlett was consciously aware of their existence. Still, they felt true enough once they’d reached the air.

 

His friends exchanged another series of glances.

 

“Gorgeous woman,” Abraham checked off on one hand. “Who frequents the gardens, accompanied by a younger man, wearing an emerald ring...”

 

“The Strongs,” Washington finished. “One of the wealthier families in this part.”

 

“She’s married then.” Hewlett could hardly get the words out.

 

Richard’s hand came smacking down on the table. “Not as such. Good news, Hewlett? She’s quite free. The bad news is you couldn’t have picked a harder woman to woo.”

 

Solemn nods all around.

 

“Hard headed,” Caleb said solemnly.

 

“Anna Strong. Appropriate name. Good luck to you, fool.”

 

***

 

Anna.

 

The name kept coursing through Hewlett, days—and eventually weeks—after he’d first heard it. It was perfect in its simplicity, a glorious two-syllable word that rolled off his tongue whenever he dared to speak it aloud. As his time with her in his thoughts increased, Hewlett began speaking her name more and more, whispering it to himself in any permissible moment. Sometimes it was as he dressing for the day, mumbling it guiltily as he clothed himself. Often it was while passing anything else of beauty—a flower, child, freshly baked bread—as if to say ‘yes, your name reminds me of our very lifeblood, of an innocent’s smile.’ Hewlett had learned not to say it around Richard though. (That prompted only wretched eye-rolls and huffs. Or worse, teasing). Hewlett spoke Anna’s name only to himself, whenever he thought it appropriate. Which was admittedly often.

 

When he whispered it most though was when he looked at the sky. At the stars.

 

Even Anna’s name though... it paled in comparison to her story. The facts, as told by his friends, were these:

 

Selah Strong, initially just a lowly pub owner, had slowly risen in rank. (Caleb: “I think I got drink from him once!”) Rumor had it he was actually a convicted criminal, at least initially. A stolen loaf of bread, a few years on a prison ship... he’d eventually been released and took back control of his family’s tavern. It didn’t take long though for his skills in trade and finance to make themselves known. He kept his pub, acquired another, then another, a textile factory, various other businesses until his wealth had become quite considerable. Selah had his fingers in a great number of pies, though is love remained in bar-keeping. He kept tabs on most local establishments, ensuring that they ran their business in a lucrative—but fair—manner.

 

Which was where Anna came in.

 

Apparently (and here was where the story passed from mere rumor into the land of fairy tales, not that Hewlett minded) Selah had visited a rather seedy tavern run by a man named Simcoe, known for his wickedness in both business dealings (if theft could possibly be called such) as well as in his general treatment of others. There, Selah found a young girl that Simcoe had been “keeping safe”—Anna. In truth he’d agreed to lodge Anna (for exuberant, continued fees) after her mother left for work. When her mother passed months later, Simcoe had turned Anna into little more than a slave. The mere thought drew Hewlett to silent rage... so he supposed he owed Selah some manner of debt. He’d taken one look at the shivering wisp of a girl sweeping the floor and had demanded that Simcoe name his price. No doubt Anna’s life hadn’t been cheap, but she’d lived under Selah’s roof ever since.

 

_“He’s her guardian then,” Hewlett had said, the anxious knot in his stomach loosening._

 

_“Yes. And from what I heard, the man keeps a rather tight leash on his charge.” Washington had eyed Hewlett significantly over the rim of his cup._

 

_Richard had merely snorted again. “Lord save us all. If you wish to embarrass yourself in such a manner, I won’t have you blaming anything other than your own foolhardy. You’ll need better clothes than that.”_

 

Which was how Hewlett had ended up in a marginally better shirt, trousers, and boots. He stood in them now, peaking out from behind a tree.

 

He wasn’t stalking the lady. Heavens no. They simply… happened to frequent the same areas of the park nowadays. That was all. A coincidence perfectly fitting of a gentleman.

 

… Right.

 

Hewlett let out a quiet groan and thumped his head against the bark. He didn’t know who he was attempting to fool. Certainly not himself, nor Richard (the annoyingly smug man), and if God was bothering to look in on his foolish creation, He no doubt had already turned away in despair.

 

Clothes or no clothes, Hewlett hadn’t made much headway. Three weeks and little had come of his excursions beyond aching legs and a collection of glimpses to brighten his nights. He’d nearly given up on his work entirely, tucking his telescope under his arm each evening purely out of habit. For twenty-one days now he’d told himself that _this_ was the afternoon that he’d approach her. He’d introduce himself. _Something_. Or, failing that, today would be the day he’d at least get on with his research if he failed in the art of courtship…

 

Yet for twenty-one days all Hewlett had succeeded in doing was following her.

 

_“You’ve become quite proficient,” Washington had muttered into his drink two nights before. It had been impossible to say whether he was amused or disapproving. “I dare say, should our revolution ever have need of a spy I might well call on your services.”_

Hewlett had ignored Abraham’s squawk that spying was to be _his_ job, for Washington’s words had indeed hit home. He had grown proficient at following this woman around and the knowledge twisted his heart horribly. Hewlett didn’t _want_ to dishonor Anna in such a manner, it was simply that every time he tried to approach her, every manner of anxiety would rise up, all of which rooted him in place.

 

What if he frightened her? The gardens practically emptied at night—what if Anna started at some strange man approaching her from the shadows? Such a scare heralded nothing but disaster for their relationship. What if he tripped and made a fool of himself? With the weather cooling day by day and snow-showers taking the place of rain, Hewlett had more than once lost his footing on a particularly vicious patch of ice. Wouldn’t it be just his luck to finally land on his back the day he decided to approach her? Or far more likely, what if Anna noticed his clothes? Richard had procured him an outfit from God only knew where and though it was better than what he’d been wearing previously, the cuffs of his shirt were still frayed and the knees of his trousers still worn—to say nothing of his boots. Here the darkness worked to his advantage, but what would Anna think of him once she saw him by candlelight?

 

“Nothing good,” Hewlett muttered to his tree. “Heaven help me, I am a man of honesty… and that is perhaps all that I can claim. I have nothing else to offer her.”

 

That, above all else, was what gave Hewlett pause. What _did_ he have to offer a woman like Anna—beautiful, well bred, rich… refreshingly passionate if his friends’ claims were true? Hewlett had forsworn his own family, thrown his lot in with a group of rebels whose beliefs he couldn’t fully support, and he’d yet to find a way to clothe himself without starving for his trouble, or vice versa. Worse, Hewlett had few prospects and bigger dreams than most ladies cared to deal with. He was not at all handsome—had in fact grown gaunter than he’d ever imagined possible—and in truth was not a particularly good conversationalist. When facing women the words he wished to speak became lodged in his throat. They might disappear entirely before someone like Anna. And as if the fates hadn’t conspired against him enough, his friends had delighted in pointing out shortcomings Hewlett had yet to catch on to. _Surely you won’t discuss art. You’ll bore her to death, Hewlett! You are aware that your table manners have lapsed considerably, aren’t you? Possessiveness is desirable in no man, Hewlett. Do keep that in mind._

 

Possessiveness. Honestly. So he may have ranted a tad when a strong gust of wind raised Anna’s skirts. It wasn’t possession—it was decorum! No lady should be seen in such a manner. The boy across her path had positively ogled her legs!

 

... As had Hewlett…admittedly… though not intentionally… he simply… hadn’t been able to look away…

 

“Pathetic,” he ground his teeth, knocking his forehead once, twice, three times against the tree. Hewlett fell into a punishing rhythm and found it quite soothing. “Useless. Unbecoming. Entitled. Narcissistic—”

 

“Pray, who is narcissistic?”

 

Hewlett yelped, turning, spinning—damn the ice!—and barely managed to keep his feet as he floundered against the tree trunk. He gapped at the bodice floating primly before him. Hewlett raised his eyes and realized that, yes fool, it _was_ attached to a woman.

 

Anna.

 

She looked radiant in the fading light. Her gown this evening was a dark plumb and once again it allowed her fair skin to radiate amongst the darkness. Hewlett finally got a close look at warm brown eyes, the hint of a smile, and he promptly swallowed his tongue.

 

“I’ve seen you around the gardens,” she said by introduction. Something about Anna’s tone drew a mortified blush from Hewlett. “My guardian was unable to accompany me this evening and I’m just selfish enough to desire companionship, particularly of the entertaining variety. You, sir, sound as if you have quite the story. Surely no one man can be ‘useless,’ ‘unbecoming,’ ‘entitled,’ _and_ ‘narcissistic’?”

 

Anna waited. Hewlett was dimly aware that this was the point in the conversation where he spoke, preferably eloquently, yet all that emerged was a horrifying squeak. He desperately cleared his throat, Richard’s voice screaming insults within his mind.

 

My God, had she truly given him such an opening?

 

_Speak!_

 

“The quiet type?” Anna asked after another agonizing beat of silence. She smiled. “No matter. My guardian is also a man of few words. I find that I’ve grown quite fond of silence. Would you at least do me the honor of escorting me around the fountain? Before we lose all light?”

 

Anna held out her hand. Hewlett stared at it, mesmerized.

 

“I fear you’ll have to do something with your device.”

 

That brought Hewlett out of his daze. He startled, a shiver running through his whole body.

 

“D-device?” he croaked.

 

“Ah! He speaks!” Anna laughed, light and musical and beautiful enough to make Hewlett’s toes curl. She reached out and placed a delicate finger atop his telescope. “This fascinating object. Is it a weapon?”

 

“… uh… no, that is… that is it… it’s for viewing. _The stars_ ,” Hewlett clarified, realizing how this must look to her. He fumbled with the casing, half trying to unwrap the telescope, half showing Anna that it was still safely tucked away.

 

“Oh? Nothing else?” The layer of innuendo beneath her words made Hewlett’s jaw drop. Confident and brazen, Anna reached forward and took the telescope from his hands. Hewlett watched, mute with amazement, as she figured out how to fit it together, taking just a few minutes more to set it up than he himself needed. The entire time she worked—pale hands shimmering, skirts swirling across pavement—Hewlett’s only muddled thought was that he _had_ to introduce her to his friends.

 

She was astounding. Just as he knew she would be.

 

Hewlett only realized he’d said that aloud when Anna turned, her small smile splitting into an infinite grin.

 

“Am I astounding?” she asked, ignoring Hewlett’s splutters of horror. “Then you wouldn’t mind keeping me company? It’s such a lovely night.”

 

It was a terrible night. The temperature had dropped considerably and a drizzle of rain had started up, much like when Hewlett had first seen her. He didn’t care and obviously—miraculously—neither did Anna. Hewlett gathered what wits remained to him and straightened his shirt, nodding.

 

“Of course,” he murmured. “It… it would be an honor.”

 

“The honor is all mine. Will you show me how this works?”

 

He sighed, swaying with joy. “ _Yes_.”

 

“And are they beautiful up close? The stars?” Anna was poised by the telescope, not quite low enough yet to look through it. Hewlett took her by the shoulders with trembling hands—light as butterflies—and moved her into the correct position. They settled together with Hewlett at her back and it felt unmistakably like coming home.

 

“Yes,” he whispered belatedly. “They’re beautiful.”

 

“The most beautiful thing you’ve seen?”

 

“Not in the least.”

 

With that promise, Hewlett guided Anna towards the stars.


End file.
